Saturday, November 22, 2008

Summary: After Delle decides not to accompany her friends on a "sun, sea, sand, and sex" vacation, they chip in to buy her a sexdoll. Delle thinks that was mean, but she's too softhearted to throw the doll out with the trash, and reluctantly decides to find it a place in her collection.The doll refuses to stay on its feet once she gets it to the bedroom, which is how he winds up in her bed -- but she has only herself to blame when she takes advantage of the opportunity that night.Delle doesn't realize it, but Lexan's no mere plaything…

Even though she wasn't taking time off, and had turned down her best friends' repeated efforts to get her to join them on vacation, Delle woke feeling as if it were time for a spring break. She didn't regret her decision to stay at home, exactly -- "sun, sea, sand, and sex," as Honey had put it, weren't what she was in the mood for. Even when they'd all been in college, she hadn't really enjoyed wild parties -- and as much as she loved her friends, she knew herself well enough not to get dragged along on one of their extreme vacations. But she felt a little wistful all the same. Maybe she should take a few days off and find something fun to do.Usually she liked to spend days off fussing with her collection, but the shelves of dolls she'd lovingly bought over the years were in perfect order; she'd gotten stuck on a project last week and had gotten unblocked by free-associating while she rearranged and re-dressed her toys. She showered and dressed, still trying to think of something she wanted to do -- and had almost given up and decided to spend the day working -- when her doorbell rang. Still toweling her hair dry, she peered through the security peephole to see two deliverymen and an enormous crate. What the hell? She hadn't ordered anything. But that was definitely her name and address on the form one bored-looking guy thrust at her. She signed, puzzled, and gave him back the clipboard. "You want us to bring this inside for you?" the other one asked sympathetically, and she nodded. Delle was five-foot-four; whatever was in that crate was at least a foot taller. And heavy, she noted, because the two guys struggled to drag it over the threshold and wrestle it into place against the wall. She thanked them, and carefully locked the door once they'd left. Delle loved having her own place, but she was cautious about security. There was an envelope taped to the front of the box. She opened it and groaned. It was in Honey's handwriting. Honey ("Call me Honoria and die," as she invariably introduced herself) usually meant well, but she had a taste for adventure and a talent for chaos that her friends had learned to be wary of. For our favorite Girl Gone Mild, it read. If we can't convince you to come with us and meet a guy, we're just going to have to find one to send you. Consider this a placeholder. He's every bit the homebody you are, won't cheat on you, and can keep you company until we get back. Love you. All three of them had signed the note. Delle eyed the crate with trepidation. There could be anything in there. Honey's sense of humor could be more than a little over the top. Please, Delle prayed, don't let there be an actual person in there. It was one thing to have her friends, who'd known her forever, tease her about her reluctance to get romantically involved with anyone. If they'd talked some guy into getting delivered to her as a joke about her single status, it would cross the line from amusing to humiliating. She knew they meant well, but sometimes her friends made her feel she took life too seriously -- and sometimes she felt frustrated and alone, isolated by her inability to take life as casually as they all seemed to, and to shrug off the occasional heartbreak as easily. Why did it always look so effortless for them? She shook off the mild depression that was threatening to settle over her, and grabbed a crowbar from her toolbox. Returning to the crate, she grinned at the idea that if there was an intruder inside, at least she was well armed.It took her close to a half-hour to pry off the front of the box. When she finally lowered it to the floor she was sweating and disgruntled. She pulled out the layer of fake straw that had been used as packing material, and stood frozen in shock. It was a doll. But this wasn't any ordinary doll. He was as tall as a living man, and gorgeous. For several minutes she was too shocked -- and, in a strange way, impressed -- to do more than stare. And then she realized, with horror, what this must be. Oh, God. It was a sex doll. Even though she was alone in her apartment, Delle blushed hotly. Okay, this wasn't funny: it was mortifying. Why on earth had her friends bought her this thing? Except she knew why: it was exactly the sort of joke Honey couldn't resist. But this was a pretty expensive joke, Delle guessed. The doll was exquisitely made. She reached out one trembling hand and touched the smooth, cool surface of his cheek, almost unable to believe he wasn't alive.